


Surmount the cold, survive the flood

by Etherea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, I thought about making an alt account to post this, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 07:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14397609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etherea/pseuds/Etherea
Summary: When an old enemy of the Avengers gets his hands on Darcy, he takes great pleasure in breaking her.





	1. Waiting for darkest winter to turn spring

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags, because this might be the darkest thing I've ever written. It's a Break-The-Cutie situation,and gets more graphic in later chapters. 
> 
> The title is a lyric from a song, if you know it without googling you're in a very interesting Venn diagram intersection with me.

Darcy knew it wasn't her captors coming for her this time, because their arrival was not usually heralded with explosions, indoor lightning storms, and horrific screams.

She held very still, not permitting herself to hope for anything in particular. Definitely not a superheroic rescue. Among the thousands of scenarios she was avoiding hoping for, one that it did not occur to her to not hope for was Vision floating through the steel door. She hiccuped at the sight, laughter a bit beyond her. His perpetually serious face took in her shaking body, and he reached out as he floated to her. She shuddered and curled in upon herself at the thought of being touched again. Vision paused as she flinched away, taking in the extent of her injuries. His expression was more human than usual, as though he had just now gained a greater understanding of rage. His voice was low, steady; the kind of tone you use with injured animals and insane customers.  
"I am going to remove your restraints. This will not hurt."

His hand closed around the metal and squished it like it was playdough. The twisted remnants of her shackles clanked on the floor, and his hand stopped short of her. What was he waiting for, permission?

Oh. Right. He was waiting for permission. How quaint.

She nodded, teeth clenched, and he wrapped gentle hands around her.

_don't touch me!_

He picked her up and she found herself cradled by arms so insubstantial they were almost not there at all. Had she said that out loud?

He tried to avoid all her cuts and bruises, which was impossible, and his face betrayed the anger he was managing to keep from his voice. "I will hold you as lightly as I am able. I am sorry for any pain I cause you. Your captors' actions are anathema to me."

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Small words, Vis." The word 'please’ rose up and stuck in her throat. Pleading was no good here.

_out out get me out._

What about now? Is hope safe to have now? Maybe once they were out of the cell. She settled for resisting the urge to throw herself away from even this insubstantial contact and crawl into a storm drain.

_please stop touching me!_

Getting put ldown meant staying here

_get me out!_

He rephrased, "It hurts me to see you like this." The air around her rippled red. "I can see it hurts you to been seen thus. Wanda has shielded you from the sight of others."

Thank Thor for small blessings, like a witch who could blur her naked body faster than a tv censor spotting a nipple in prime time. As though summoned by her thoughts, the Asgardian's distinctive roar sounded somewhere else in the facility, followed by electric crackling noises and the smell of burned flesh.

Vision pushed down the door of the cell, and they floated into a hallway filled with smoking corpses and furious Avengers. Darcy caught a glimpse of the other captives limping towards the exit - looking worse for wear, she noted, but not naked. Oh, great. So nice to know she'd had special treatment. She turned her head away from Vision's chest and retched, bile splashing to the floor and onto a nearby body. The mask was smashed in hard enough that he wouldn't be getting up ever again, but by the hair she knew it was Blondie.

_good. I hope it hurt._

She closed her eyes and curled up tighter in Vision's holding-but-not-touching embrace. What would be worse, seeing the bodies of the other captors? Seeing them captured alive? Learning they'd escaped? She swallowed more bile at the thought.


	2. What I Did Over Winter Break (Or What Was Done To Me, I Suppose)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took almost a week for the Avengers to find her. Only a week. A whole week. 6 days. Eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets bad.

_6 days earlier_

The raid on the lab was a bit of a blur. It couldn't have lasted more than ten minutes, Darcy mused. Enough time to hit the silent alarm, but not enough to get to an exit. The transport had been a couple of hours, though she'd spent it with her sight obscured by this season's most fashionable headbag. So probably still in Europe. Still in winter, obviously, going by the cold-as-fuck cell. 

The bullshit slap-and-shout treatment only lasted about a day. She knew no-one had folded, not under something that milquetoast. The research at their lab wasn't exactly weapons-grade, but they were using some Agardian tech, so everyone had been given standard RTI training.

She was back shackled to the centre of the floor in her cell, readying some more cutting insults, when the now-familiar masked goons (who she'd mentally dubbed Blondie and The Brawn) came in, carrying a fluffy microphone and small recorder. They were followed by a man in a skeletal metal mask with incredibly high cheekbones. 

_I must remember to mock his contouring skills later._

__"You recording these interviews now? To enjoy later?" She quirked an eyebrow. Nobody replied. Hmm. Bad sign. MaskFace was clearly from a different school of torture. From the way her heart began to race in his silent presence, he was top of his class. His earpiece buzzed with words unintelligible from her distance. She held very still in her shackles as MaskFace gestured to Blondie to stand aside. He pulled out a knife - again with the skull motif, noticed the one part of her brain not paralysed with terror - and knelt down in front of her. Quick slices, taking no care about whether or not they went deep enough to cut skin, slashed at the seams and closures of her sensible lab pants and blouse. Blondie seemed to very much enjoy the shocked cries she couldn't hold back when the blade bit into her thighs and scraped down her ribs. MaskFace stood back and gestured again, and Blondie strode forward to tear away the fabric covering her legs. Ripping the fabric the rest of the way pulled at her fresh cuts, and she howled wordlessly, clawing at the floor with shackled hands as she tried to crawl backwards. He grabbed her legs and pulled her body back towards him, making her head snap backwards and crack on the floor. Through the woozy throbbing of her brand new concussion she felt him fall upon her thighs with his teeth, the bites drawing yet more blood. Fresh, bright pain clamoured for her attention from every part of her, and as Blondie climbed on top of her she screamed, just generally, about everything._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RTI is Resistance To Interrogation training given to the British military.


End file.
